


crossfire

by ellfie



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Amnesia, Dissociative Amnesia, M/M, nightwing #50, post dick getting shot in the skull
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-02 20:27:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16312154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellfie/pseuds/ellfie
Summary: There are consequences when you get shot in the skull.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, Nightwing #50 is... not okay. If Dick seems out of character in this (more like Jason tbh) that's because that's exactly how they're writing him now. #51 comes out in two days, we'll see what happens after that. 
> 
> Though this is set in Nightwing #50 canon, I haven't really decided yet if I'm pulling from other canon -- such as the failed wedding, and I heard there's more recent baggage between Babs and Dick too. For now, the focus is primarily the reactions of Dick and Bruce to Dick getting shot within the simple context of them, rather than the larger canon right now.

.x.

He doesn’t hear him enter, but he _feels_ him. Some sixth sense or shit received from years of training he doesn’t remember. He doesn’t bother to turn around, he’s fine just as he is on the stiff modern couch of some socialite’s apartment, beer in hand.  
  
“I thought I told you to leave me alone.” Dick says, taking another solid swig from the expensive draft pulled from the homeowner’s fridge.

“You’re breaking into houses,” Batman says in a low, rough voice somewhere behind him.

Dick grunts, doesn’t bother to turn the volume of the TV down. “Not taking anythin’ but food, and payin’ ‘em back for it.”

 “Come home, Dick.” He says it in that same Batman growl, not quite a threat, but certainly a command. It was really weird to hear all the different voices Bruce Wayne used on a regular basis, and Dick found himself frustrated that he already understood what each meant. Batman was talking to him right now, trying to tell him what to do, take control of the situation so it played out the way he wanted it to. A couple weeks ago Bruce had sat down with him, calmly and quietly answered his questions and explained his situation. A few days ago Bruce had caught him packing his bags, and quietly and _painfully_  asked him to stay.

Now it was Batman’s turn, it seemed.

Dick blinks and jerks back when he finds Batman in front of him, exposed jaw covered in stubble and line of his mouth softer than expected. “ _Fuck_.” He’d lost time, _again._

“You’re still having seizures,” Batman says but there’s a hint of Bruce in there too. Dick tenses when the man moves a little closer, hunches a bit so as not to loom.

“Well, I did get shot in the head,” Dick grumbles, taking another long drag of beer to hide the way his hand shakes. Most of his seizures were small, unnoticeable to anyone who didn’t know any better. Didn’t make the worse ones any better though.

“You need to come home,” Batman growls again, but Dick scoffs and pushes to his feet, pushing past Bruce to stumble towards the kitchen. “You’re still ill, you shouldn’t be alone.”

Dick tips his head back to get the last drop of beer, feels Bruce’s eyes on him and hates the way it thrills him. He chucks the empty bottle into the recycling bin, making it in without any effort despite the fact it’s fifteen feet away. “Oh, I have _plenty_ of company when I want it. It’s not hard to attract people with this body or a wad of cash.”

“ _Dick_ ,” and suddenly Bruce — Batman —is right there, grabbing his arm and spinning around, forcing Dick to face him, and Dick _hates himself_ because his cock _jumps_ at the force of it all, even as the rest of him rails against it. He wonders, not for the first time, if there had ever been anything between them, and still comes to the conclusion that whatever it _was_ had been one sided, and still — that’s in the past now. A past he wants no part in.

Dick twists his arm in muscle memory and breaks his hold, but a part of him knows Bruce is just allowing it. “ _Stop calling me that!_ ” Dick snaps, even though he can’t help but call himself the same name privately. “I’m not him anymore. I told you, I’m done. I don’t want your help, and I'm  _definitely_ not going to let you push me around and do what you want just because _you_ want it. Fuck off, Bruce.”

Bruce doesn’t exactly back up, but he… tightens himself. Collects himself inwards so he seems smaller and yet taller all at once. Closed off. “You still have a loft here, and four uncompromised safe houses. You have more in Bludhaven.”

“No, _Dick Grayson_ and _Nightwing_ had all those places.”

“They’re _yours_. Use them.”

Dick snarls and stalks into Batman’s space, watches as the man tenses but doesn’t back down even when Dick is hardly a breath away. “Stop telling me what to do, _Batman_. That’s one thing me and that old Dick have in common — we’re both tired of you controlling our lives. So get _out_ of my life, Bruce.”

Bruce is so close. Dick can smell that familiar scent — some doctor told him scents are going to trigger his memories a lot — of leather, his sweat, and the strange crisp scent of Gotham and wind that makes him ache. He thinks he maybe lost a few seconds again, but whether it’s the seizures or just getting caught up in his own scrambled memory is anybody’s guess. But Bruce is still right there, solid, jaw clenching and unclenching, and Dick wants to—

He jerks away and stalks to the fridge, yanking it open hard enough the bottles clink and clunk inside. He scrounges around for another beer and heads for the couch, but he only gets three steps before Batman is on him again, gripping is wrist. Dick shouts but Batman just grips harder, snatching the bottle from his grasp. “Enough.”

“Get it through your thick skull!” Dick shouts, dropping his shoulder and managing to surprise his way out of Batman’s hold, but has no luck getting his bottle back. “Stop telling me what to do, and leave me alone!” He throws a punch which Batman catches easily, but then Dick grabs a handful of his cloak and _yanks_ , prompting a grunt and Batman unsteadies enough that Dick can snatch his bottle back then shove away. He flicks off the cap and lets it fly somewhere, taking a greedy swig as he saunters back to the couch, vaulting over the top and settling on the cushions again.

He feels Batman stalk him, and tips his head towards the crack in the curtains. “Good news, Bruce. Looks like you’re wanted _somewhere_.” The bat symbol shines in the sky, and Dick forces himself to stay still and as relaxed as he can, even though the sight of that skylight tugs at something in his gut, making him want to get up, out, to _move_ , to _fly_.

He takes another drink of his beer.

He hears Batman sigh, then a rustle of cloth, and finally the man is gone.

Dick tries to feel happy about it. Instead, he just feels empty. He lets out a breath, tips his head back, and stares at the ceiling.

.x.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I put ice cubes on your lips,” Bruce murmured, hardly a whisper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wasn't very pleased with #51 though not particularly surprised either. I'm still interested to see where they're going to take the series but it still has such the potential for shittyness I'm not exactly holding my breath. Instead, I'm finally reading Grayson. I particularly liked the part where Dick asked if Bruce could do something for him and Bruce responded with: "Anything." 
> 
> I also heard crazy shit happened in Batman #57 making Batman "a hypocrite" but both my comic stores only got like six comics in for some reason so I've yet to read it.
> 
> Also: I know I switched around tenses and shit but if I went back to fix it I would never actually post it.

.x.

“Dick.”  
  
Water drips off his chin, sliding down his cheek. He narrows his eyes.

“Dick Grayson.”

He glares at his reflection, curses softly, and splashes more water on his face.

“Richard John Grayson.”

His reflect glares back at him, droplets sliding down the ridges of his nose, clearly broken multiple times, and catching on his growing stubble. He tries to make sense of it, the face of the man in the mirror, scarred and hardened, with the one in the dozens of pictures his “family” and “friends” show him. Dick Grayson had been an almost endlessly cheerful, affectionate person. Beaming in most pictures, even when everyone else was scowling.

What did he have to beam about now?

He couldn’t remember any _reason_ he should be offering bright smiles. As for the emotions? _Jesus_. Most of those emotions stayed, but they were so _jumbled_ and _painful_ he just… he couldn’t sort through them right now.

‘ _Just give it time, Master Dick_ ,’ he remembers the old man saying.

“GOD DAMN IT!” He slams his hands down onto the counter, shouting out a curse as the force rings through his bones. He curls over the sink, shutting his eyes tight, gritting his teeth. He forces a deep breath through his nose.

_‘Center yourself.’_

  _‘I_ am _centered, Bruce!’_

_‘Quiet. Breathe. Don’t argue.’_

  _‘I_ am _breathing—‘_

_‘Dick.’_

The ceiling is supposed to be white. Theres a dozen splotches of yellow and brown from water damage though. He blinks. Why is he looking at the ceiling? He squints against the buzzing light, the sound and brightness making his head ache. He sits up, wincing, and looks around. He’s still in the bathroom, but sprawled out on the floor. “God — fucking —“ He huffs out another breath, bringing his knees up so he can rest his head between them, breathing through nausea. 

Great. Another blackout. Or maybe it was a seizure, who knew. No telling how long he’d been lying there.

After who knows how long, Dick — he hasn’t figured out a name he likes better yet, as heavy as this one is — pushes to his feet and stumbles into the bedroom. At least he remembers this. It’s a house he broke into yesterday, and according to the records he found, the couple that lived here was to be gone ten days. He looks at his phone — ok. Scratch that. He broke into the house _two_ days ago. No matter, he still has time. So he crawls back into bed, tugs the comforter up over his head, and curls up on his stomach for the next… however long this lapse of time will be. No point in keeping track of the little things, anymore.

.x.

“Richard.”

The tug of a razor down his cheek is comforting, familiar, even though he’s found the scent of the cream and aftershave is all wrong.

“Ric.”

He’s shaving this time, and… well, considering what happened last time, maybe he shouldn’t be testing out names while holding a sharp object so close to his jugular but. Well. Apparently dangerous things near vulnerable points of his body is nothing new.

“Gray.”

That sounds kind of cool. Right? Like… James Bond.

No, wait. Gray was the name of that guy in the shitty sex book.

“Great, my memory is good for _something._ ” He grumbles, holding his chin and tipping to work on the other side.

“Ricky?” His reflection makes a face, and yeah, he agrees. “Too frat boy. Richie? No, too… _douche-y_.”

Jesus, why was this so difficult?

“John.”

_His dad smiles at him as he catches him by the forearms, then releases and Dick flips in the air only to be caught by his mother, and they’re all laughing and—_

_“John, our little boy is growing up!”_

Nope.

There’s red in the reflection. Dick blinks, looks down at himself, sees the bit of blood on the razor, then touches his jaw where he nicked it.

“You’re not focused.”

Dick _jumped_ and spun around, the razor flying from his hand without thought, but instead of making any impact, it was caught right out of the air by a black gauntlet. Dick scowled at Batman as the vigilante considered the razor and then stepped forwards. “I’m pretty sure this is considered stalking.”

Batman said nothing, just walked forwards until he was close enough to hold out the razor, which Dick took back with a narrow look. Then Batman, still all caped and cowled, took a washcloth and ran it under some warm water, and Dick should’ve stopped him there, really, but all he did was glare. And glaring clearly didn’t work on this man. Batman closed the distance between them completely, and with a gentleness that seemed so completely at odds with the vigilante, held the warm cloth to his jaw, both hands cupping his face.  
  
Dick averted his gaze, trying to ignore the thudding of his heart. _This is your guardian. Your mentor,_ some part of him chastised, while another growled, _So? He’s neither now._

_He raised you_ , that first part argued, and yet all he could think of was how he had no clear memories of this man except for wild, confusing dreams and thoughts and feelings he was too close to drowning in. It was one of the reasons he was trying to cut ties. He couldn’t make sense of what discombobulated memories he had with these rushing feelings that certainly were not helped by—

By Batman’s thumb grazing his lower lip.

Dick’s eyes widened, turned back to Batman, but he could see nothing through his cowl except for the fact his jaw was not so tight, lips soft.

“I put ice cubes on your lips,” the man murmured, hardly a whisper, and it was Bruce talking. Bruce trailing his thumb along his lower lip and Dick desperately wished he hadn’t been wearing his gauntlets. “While you were… it’s said to help. Keep your mouth and throat from drying out. Keep your lips from chapping…” Dick knew Bruce was focusing on the fact his lips were still definitely chapped. He couldn’t remember Bruce doing any of this, of course, but he recalled the dreams of kissing people, their forms constantly changing, their lips always cold. And when he woke up, he couldn’t recall being thirsty.

Dick let his mouth open slow, just a bit, afraid to spook Bruce. And he… he couldn’t help himself. He tipped his chin to make Batman’s thumb drop into his mouth, let his lips close around it, the tip of his tongue dart against it.

Batman jerked backwards, leaping back across the room until he was completely out of Dick’s bathroom, several feet into his bedroom instead. Half a dozen feet between them, at least. His cloak closed over his shoulders, hiding his front. His mouth and jaw went tight.

And Dick _lost_ it. Those damn mood swings, he could feel the anger building up and boiling over with no warning, making him want to fight, to hit where it hurt. “ _What_!?” He snarled, stalking forwards, still dressed in nothing but a towel. He saw Batman’s head dip minutely down then up, clearly taking that in as well if the way he took another step back and tensed more was any indication. “Is this what you wanted? And you just couldn’t say it yourself because you wanted _me_ to come to _you_? Huh? This is why you’re stalking me, isn’t it?” He kept on forwards, and Batman kept back tracking until the back of his knees hit the bed. “Why you want me to come home so bad? You just miss your little _fuckboy._ ”  
  
“No!” He barked, outraged. “Good god, Dick, _no._ ” Dick was close but he didn’t expect Bruce to grasp him by the biceps. Instinct took over and he dropped his center of gravity, shifted to spin out of Batman’s grip but the vigilante just _yanked_ him in against his chest. Dick let out a breath and grit his teeth, trying to will away his growing interest, knowing he had no way to hide a boner in his barely stable towel. “Dick—“ Bruce squeezed his arms just enough to pull his attention. “You’re my _ward_. My _responsibility._ I — you were _nine —_ I—“  
  
“You didn’t _raise_ me,” Dick hissed, seeing where this was going. “I had a mom and a dad. I remember them. I don’t remember _you_.”

“Amnesia is a common—“

“No, Bruce, you don’t get it. I don’t _want_ to remember you.”

That made him stop, and though he made no sound, moved not a muscle, Dick could tell he hit, and he definitely hit where it hurt. He could _feel_ those walls going up between them again, and it should’ve been what he wanted. It should’ve been enough to push him away and make him and his other “family” leave him alone. But… But instead his gut just twisted, and he wished he could take back his words.

Dick looked down, hunched his shoulders, his voice soft now. “Bruce…”

Batman gently pressed him backward so he could slip from between him and the bed, and let his hands slide off his arms, turning away. And Dick knew this was it. He’d hit hard enough, hurt good enough that Bruce would think twice about coming to speak with him again. And that was good. That was exactly what he wanted. He wanted to be left alone, he wanted a new life, he wanted—  
  
“Bruce.” Dick snatched his wrist and Bruce stilled, but didn’t turn around, only barely glanced his direction. “It doesn’t change the fact that I… I still have… my memories aren’t here but the _emotions_ behind them are. And they’re… a lot. Good, and bad. But all of it is overwhelming. Makes no sense with no memories to anchor them. And with everything you told me… I don’t think it’s a life I want to go back to.”

“You have friends, Dick,” Bruce murmured, turning to face him again. “Family. People who want to help you. People who _need_ you.”

“I don’t want to be needed.” Dick said quietly, biting his lip. “Not right now. It’s too much. I can’t be what you all want me to be, I can’t even figure out who that even is. You all have expectations I can’t even _remember_. I’m not going to live in a shadow of _myself_.”

Bruce’s hand hovered between them for a second, then settled on his shoulder, and his lips angled into something akin to a smile. “You used to get annoyed with my expectations and my shadow all the time. I… suppose this isn’t really new.” Dick rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to argue about that being exactly what he was talking about when Bruce settled his other hand on his other shoulder, angled his body to be closer to eye level with Dick. The younger stared, wide-eyed. “And you were _never_ my _fuckboy_.” Dick hated how that word being growled from Batman’s mouth in such a distasteful way still made his cock twitch. “But you _were_ **mine.** ”

It was a growling breath, and Dick felt light headed with the admission, the low voice. He could do nothing but stare and attempt to process as Batman leaned in and brushed his lips over his temple almost like an accident, and just continued to stare as Batman slipped back towards the windows again. “Let me know when you’re ready to be mine again.”

And then he was gone.

Dick’s mouth fell open and he let out a breath, dropping down onto the bed, hand to his head where he was nearly positive Bruce kissed him.

What the _hell_ just happened?

.x.


End file.
